


i didn't mean to fall in love tonight

by zenturies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Porn With Plot, Smut, Top!Liam, bottom!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenturies/pseuds/zenturies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's heart fills the empty space Zayn's never had the pleasure of seeing, only feeling. Maybe it's for the best.</p>
<p>Or, the one in which Liam belongs to Zayn in every way he wants. Except for one. Until he belongs to him in every way and everything's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i didn't mean to fall in love tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I disappeared for a while, yikes, which means that I stopped writing too. Blame college and assignments that are still on-going, unfortunately. 
> 
> It's been a while since I've sat down, wrote something that I genuinely like — I don't even like this mini-fic very much, if I'm being entirely honest. Mostly because I have writers block and this is something that I wrote in hopes that it'd somehow magically cure it after my pal rambled on about Liam fucking Zayn and FWB. Spoiler alert: it didn't cure shit. The words don't flow right and everything's beyond brief and just?? But hey, what can you do? 
> 
> However, Kamilla, this (horrible) beauty's for you. You told me you wanted friends with benefits, angst, Liam fucking Zayn in front of a mirror in the bathroom, possible unrequited love if it doesn't hurt my (non-existent) soul too much (which, it did. You know how I feel about that shit, never again), and left the ending up to me. I hope you enjoy. Good luck in your new home and new town. Miss your soul already!
> 
> If you aren't Kamilla and you plan on reading this, good luck getting through this disaster of a smut fic. I'm gonna warn you in advance — there's probably a ton of mistakes because I didn't proofread, oopsies. I'll pray you survive, okay? Great. 
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr at zzenturies.tumblr.com !!
> 
> P.S I know I haven't responded to previous comments on the last fic I posted and I apologise for that. Blame my busy life. We can't all have chill days, right? Just know that I appreciate every single comment/kudo I've received! Title taken by Is There Somewhere by Halsey because this song was my savior whilst I wrote this.
> 
> P.S.S I'm sorry for what you're about to experience.

Prominent crimson and Egyptian blue blend across the junction of his tanned neck, perching on a bridge of dusky yellow as it spreads towards his collarbone. The mark's dark, bigger, more vivid than it was the night before, and even in the essence of dim lighting emitting shadows along the tiles, he can just about make out the remainder of fingerprints in the mirror, pointing in the direction of his sharp jawline. 

There's a diminishing dull ache floating through his bones, but he doesn't mind. Can't bring himself to mind when it comes to  _Liam_.

Friends shouldn't mark each other like they do. Friends shouldn't kiss like they do. Friends shouldn't love like they do.

But they do it anyway, in hopes of enticing delicious sounds from each others mouths on Friday nights when the lights are low, hearts beating along to a fascinating melody of their lips dancing, chests pressed together, blazing heat radiating from their bodies, suffocating them. They pretend that the bulky line between love and lust hasn't been stepped on, broken, snapped in two, even though they know that their souls are connected, twisted as one in this fucked up mess they created when their fingertips first touched and captivating fireworks erupted behind their eyes.

Both brown, vibrant, filled to the brim with filthy mischief and dirty thoughts. The best kind.

They're more than friends, less than a couple. Sometimes, they're enemies. They never speak of what they do, often too preoccupied with their hands roaming over every inch of bare skin when the sun slips into a state of non-existence. 

His black hair's disheveled, sticking up in unique directions, the expensive wax he'd bought from Boots and smothered into the strands hours before they came face to face, long gone. Probably smudged into Liam's sheets, with a drizzling of come and puddles of sweat. There's bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and his cheeks twinge from having his lips wrapped around Liam's cock for too long. 

The man staring back at him, isn't the seventeen year old boy he once portrayed, hyped up on kissing Liam foolish for the first time in the cramped bedroom of his family home in Bradford. It'd been a rare occasion — Zayn couldn't sleep, Liam was there, drawing swirls and designs with the tip of his index finger on Zayn's chest. Awake, alert, happy. It just happened. No warning. No red lights. Their lips met and his heart leaped in such a way that it could be considered life threatening; they ended up kissing each other until the sun rose and their eyes closed. 

If only Zayn knew back then that Liam would be hazardous for his health by the age of twenty three. Unknowingly murderous to his heart, time and time again. 

Zayn stays because it's _Liam_. 

It's Liam who stayed on the nights Zayn was puking his guts up into a bucket, rubbing his back in comforting circles. It's Liam who trains with Zayn at the local gym, empowers him to his fullest potential until he falls again. It's Liam who praises him about things that shouldn't make someone proud. It's Liam who catches him when he's at his lowest, in an unorganised mess of turmoil thoughts. It's Liam who brings him a full English breakfast in bed if his presence isn't needed elsewhere. It's Liam who loves him for him. It's Liam. No matter how many blokes Zayn shags, sober or intoxicated, high on weed or minor success, happy or miserable, poor or wealthy.

It's always going to be Liam.

"You're starin' at yourself," comes a groggy voice from the door frame. It's deep, sultry. "What are you thinkin' about?"

Truthfully, Zayn would spill all of it if he could. He'd let those three important words fall from his lips, grab Liam by his hips, leave traumatic bruises on his skin for a change, mark him as his  _own_. He'd push him into the wall, so much so his back would smack against the surface, the dimples on the bottom of his spine hidden from view, but always lingering in Zayn's mind. He'd tell him with his tongue venturing over his skin, licking away the doubt, his worries, his stresses. He'd love Liam the way Liam deserves to be loved.

"Nothing," Zayn mumbles, gulping back the _I love you_ laying in the bridge of his throat.

Liam saunters towards him, his feet slapping against the charcoal coloured Vinyl flooring. "You been up for long?" He asks.

Zayn shakes his head, placing his hands on the sink in front of him. "'Bout fifteen minutes."

"And you've been in here all this time?" Liam questions as his arms envelope Zayn's slightly smaller frame, pulling him flush against his broad chest. Zayn shouldn't feel so at home in his Liam's arms. He shouldn't. 

Zayn sighs, his hands automatically resting on top of Liam's arms. He lets himself run his slender fingers through the field of the soft chestnut coloured hair staining Liam's arms. "Nah. Tried to fall back asleep. But then I had to pee."

Liam presses a kiss as light as a feather at the very top of Zayn's neck. Zayn pretends it doesn't send shivers down his spine. "You wanna go back to bed?"

There's a split second where Zayn has to reluctantly heave himself back down to reality before his mind tricks him into thinking that Liam loves him like he does with unmistakable firefly scenarios playing in his mind, whizzing around, skirting over the brain, sending bitter signals to his heartstrings. Reality hurts, but then again, so does having undeniable feelings for your best friend. 

"Wanna stay here." Zayn murmurs, scraping his worn-down nails along Liam's arms. "With you."

Something that mimics fondness flashes in Liam's eyes. It's brief, but it's there. Zayn notices. He always notices the little things when it comes to Liam, embeds them into his mind for the nights he's unable to crawl into a peaceful, dreamless slumber. For when he's sweating with a shaky hand wrapped around his cock, panting out Liam's name in a race to the finish line of a spectacular orgasm that has his brain fogging, eyes dotting with stars. And then afterwards, he lays there, dizzy with the aftermath of remembering everything he should forget about Liam.

"You're thinking again," Liam states, his hands locating Zayn's waist, fingers curling around his hips. Zayn feels small when he's flat against Liam, the curve of his ass clasping in place with Liam's groin — almost like a completed puzzle, on display for everyone to see, but this belongs to them. Their bodies fit in so many ways they shouldn't. Arm to arm, back to chest, thighs to thighs. They're a dazzling masterpiece, in some fucked up way, but Liam — having Liam in his life is like winning billions, looking at him is like owning millions. One in a million chance of being blessed, the outcome of it exhilarating.

Zayn only grunts in agreement, holds his breath when Liam's right hand finds his semi-hard cock, the ends of his fingers swaying across the sensitive tip. Fuck morning wood, but thank god for Liam Payne.

"Y'want a distraction, babe?" Liam asks curiously, peppering raw, open-mouthed kisses along the column of Zayn's tilted neck. His neck's always been sensitive, and Liam knows the correct spot to hit, never misses — unless he's drunk, too smashed on tequila and unknown mixed substances.

Zayn nods, lets out a trembling breath, then a whisper of, " _please_ ," tumbles into the open air. His hands have fallen to his sides and he's fully trusting Liam with his weight, leaning back against him.

( He'd trust Liam with his life ).

When Liam flicks his head up to look at Zayn in the mirror, his eyes are a shade darker than they were seconds ago. It's not love. It never is love. It's lust. "Let me go get the lube then, open you up, yeah?"

Zayn doesn't respond. Instead, he stares at Liam with a flaring feverish gaze, his teeth clamped over his lower lip. His eyes don't falter from Liam's frame as the bloke rushes back into the bedroom and then Zayn's alone, a mixture of thoughts zooming into his mind until he's strong enough to fling them away, bending himself over the sink, gripping the edges of the stainless steel, and parting his legs. He dips his head, fixes his attention on the faucets, can't look at himself quite yet. 

Liam returns seconds later, lube in his hands. Zayn doesn't know what flavour it is — he doesn't even think Liam knows what flavour it is either. The flavour doesn't matter to Zayn, anyway. He prefers things raw, fresh, like the time he had Liam bent over the couch, licking him out greedily _without_ lube. Safe to say, he could taste Liam on his tongue for days, and that made him a very, very happy  man.

"Holy fuck." Liam stops in his tracks and when Zayn peers over, a cheeky grin twirls at the corners of his lips. "You look — fuck, Zayn. Could get off just by lookin' at you." 

Zayn hums, his gaze diverting to the twitch of Liam's cock. Knowing that he has this kind of impact on Liam makes his stomach spiral, his confidence excessively climbing the ropes of cloud nine.  "We should try that sometime," he says absentmindedly, listening to the bottle pop open and then a squirting sound fills the room. His thighs quake, bum raising further in the air and this little show he's putting on for Liam makes it worth it when he hears Liam's wavering breath.

"Yeah," Liam agrees, setting the bottle of lube on the sink in front of Zayn. He stands behind him, parts Zayn's cheeks with his free hand, the moment the tips of his fingers drift over his hole, Zayn's pushing back against him.

Liam knows Zayn doesn't appreciate the idea of overflowing lube so he tries to keep it to a minimum. He also knows that Zayn likes the fiery burn, the tender ache that slithers through his being during _and_ afterwards.

"Liam," Zayn breathes as Liam presses the tip of his index finger into him, slowly edging forward. It feels like a hundred years go by, but it helps that he's a little loose from their previous night of rapid rendezvous, sensual and sweet, fast and passionate. 

"I love how you're still so tight," Liam chuckles lowly behind him, curving his finger upwards and then he goes to work without as so much as a warning sign. His hand moves speedily, fleeting movements of a curving palm, and a straight finger, Liam's eyes glazed with the type of determination that petrifies Zayn.

Zayn groans loudly, can't help it. Not with the way Liam's working a finger into him. He can feel his cock fill up, has to press forward to take some of the pressure off. He could reach down, touch himself, but he won't. Not when Liam's making him feel bloody incredible, even with the pain conflicting with pleasure — it'll combine soon before leisurely disappearing as the pleasure takes over. This is the distraction he craves, more than anything. But not more than Liam. He's always craving Liam. Morning, afternoon, evening, night. It's the second most painful thing he's ever experienced.

The first? Being in love with someone who doesn't love you back.

"Y'alright there, babe?" Liam wonders casually, like he isn't fucking into Zayn with his hand in front of the bathroom sink. Like Zayn isn't doing his best to hold off some of the bliss, purposely clenching his stomach muscles and thighs, all the whilst attempting to keep himself up right.

"I'm fuckin' wonderf— _oh_ ," his words cuts off into a moan when the tip of Liam's finger coasts over Zayn's prostate, his thighs going lax and then before he knows it, Liam's pushing in his middle finger, the pad of his thumb stiff against his right ass cheek. 

Behind him, Liam laughs and there's a tiny glimmer of mischief in his tone. He knows there's no way in hell Zayn will mutter out a lame attempt at a witty comeback because he has the upper hand right now. Liam's in charge of ridding Zayn of the thoughts that haunt his brain. He doesn't know it, but he's a good competitor at dominating Zayn's happiness. Various, unique things make Zayn happy, but Liam's the source of it all. Has been since day bloody one.

"Prick," Zayn manages to mumble, his voice muffled due to lowering his head, teeth biting down on his wrist to calm himself, willing himself not to come so soon. 

Liam doesn't reply, fucks his fingers into him a little harder than before, keeping his two digits bent so they can easily glide over Zayn's prostate with a silent goal of making Zayn groan, moan, whine. 

Zayn can feel Liam's cock bobbing behind him, like he's aching for what they both want, what they both need. Fuck, he can even feel his own, trapped between the steel sink, neglected, lipstick red at the tip and — the thought of Liam wearing lipstick and sucking him off pops into his mind, almost setting his entire body ablaze. He coils over from the harsh blend of that specific thought and Liam's hand, fingers turning white from clutching onto the sink so tight.

"I could fuck you everyday," Liam babbles, scissoring his fingers a bit until he feels Zayn's hole give in, beginning to stretch, expand, the resistance no longer in sight.

"You _do_ fuck me everyday," Zayn confirms through gritted teeth, unable to stop his hips from rocking backwards onto Liam's fingers. He'd laugh at the situation — Liam fucking his fingers into him, him being more than eager, but he knows he doesn't have the air in his lungs to do so or the happiness for it. Not right now, anyway.

Liam smirks, eyes crinkled at the corners. His fingers vanish and Zayn turns his head, brows knitting together in puzzlement as Liam slants his own, eyes fixated on Zayn's back.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks, lower lip becoming chapped from licking over it.

Liam's gaze hoists upwards as he wraps his fingers around himself, offering his cock a few tugs. The sight is enough to make Zayn's mouth water. "'Cause I'm gonna fuck you right here, right now. That's what you want, yeah? A distraction?"

Zayn's throat goes dry. Out of all the things Zayn had in mind, it certainly wasn't that. He'd expected Liam to carry him into the bedroom, fuck into him against the wall if they couldn't make it to the bed, but not in front of the sink — or in front of the mirror. 

Don't fault him, Zayn's far from self conscious. He knows he's a diamond in the rough when it comes down to pristine genes and a line of decent looking blokes. But he also has his difficult days. The days where he doesn't even want to look at himself in the mirror, not even when he brushes his teeth or fixes his hair. It's a bittersweet war, a day to day fight, but that's why he enjoys having Liam around. Because Liam makes him feel like he deserves to be on top of the world.

( He just wishes Liam felt the same about him ). 

"Yeah." Zayn murmurs, gathering enough strength to elevate his upper body, just as Liam wraps an arm around his waist, supporting him. "Y'gonna fuck me so I forget?"

Liam's tongue makes an appearance, skates lively across his lower lip before he's lining himself. The tip of his cock is pressed snug against Zayn's hole, his head moving forward a centimeter or two and, "M'gonna fuck you 'til the only thing you remember is my cock, my face, my _name_."

Zayn parts his lips to speak but Liam's pushing in and his throat convulses, adam's apple bobbing, cock twisting, screaming at him for attention. He's used to the burn and unwillingly ignores the sudden urge to cause a turn of events and ram Liam into the nearest wall, fuck into him like he's the golden trophy everyone wants to win, show off to their friends, their parents, especially; Zayn's no different than everyone.

"Watch yourself in the mirror, darling. Gonna show you how pretty you can get," Liam demands softly, breath hot against Zayn's ear. He's still got an arm hooked around Zayn's waist and if Zayn concentrates as he noiselessly encourages himself to glance at them both, he can feel Liam's bicep flex against the side of his chest when his hands squeeze his hip. 

They're both a mess. Liam's hair isn't combed or gelled into a quiff, one strand hanging down like it normally is. It's tangled, chaotic, and Zayn wants to thread his fingers through the silky strands until his hands go numb. Liam's working up a sweat too, Zayn can see the dampness forming on his forehead but then his eyes avert to the slope of his nose, bridge of his lips, scope over the roundness of his cheeks, down his neck, settling on his collarbones — the collarbones Zayn's all too familiar with. 

He chances a glance at himself, the air hot and clammy. He feels like he's on fire with Liam clinging to his back, but he's at ease. He's secure. His lips are more redder than minutes ago and the hickey on his neck seems like it's beaming, glowing, reminding him that Liam lost control, got a little vicious with his teeth and went to town on his neck. He'd let him, told him that it was okay, that it didn't mean anything when it meant the entire damn galaxy. His shoulders are slumped, chest heaving, heavy breaths slipping between the gap of his lips and —

"Zayn." Liam speaks and Zayn looks at him, zeros his eyes on him. Liam offers a smile that calms him, soothes the thoughts collecting in his brain again. "It's okay, man. You're alright."

He is. He's okay. He's fine. Liam's got him. Liam's always got him.

It's mere seconds after that, that the world around them spins because Liam starts fucking into him, the sound of skin smacking sleazily against skin. Zayn loves it. He welcomes the burn, the relentless ache in his thighs from standing up for so long, for having lack of control over his own body because Liam's controlling how he feels, what he feels. And right now, he feels like bliss is temporarily inviting him in with open arms and good intentions. 

"Fuck, Li—"

Liam interjects. "Y'were fuckin' made for my cock, I _swear_."

Zayn bows his head, closes his eyes, and allows the aura of Liam to roll over as the burn starts to fade, his body sensitive to Liam's every touch, every thrust, every word spoken. His mind becomes ten times cloudier, but he knows he'll just have to deal with those thoughts another time.

He wonders if Liam would bleed for him like Zayn would take a bullet for him, no hesitation in tact. He wonders if they'd be lovers in another life, cause a little trouble, rob a bank or two. He wonders if Liam would set a fire in his heart, rip it out, and stomp on it until it's burned to the crisp and he wonders if Liam would stitch it back together.

"Liam, f-fuck, fuck, babe," Zayn laughs, can't contain it. Not when Liam's rocking into him, not when he has a sick smirk plastered on his mouth. Not when Liam's fucking him and Zayn's falling more and more in love with him as the seconds tick by.

"Good, yeah?" Liam groans after those words filter into the air, the tip of his cock hitting his prostate, and Zayn's back arches before he's crooking forward over the sink. His arm extends, accidentally hits the toothbrush jar and he watches as it plummets to the floor, smashing into a hundred fragments.

"Yes, right _there_ ," Zayn doesn't stare at the shards of glass for too long because Liam's gripping at his jaw, forcing his eyes upwards and when their gazes lock, Zayn thinks he's never seen anything or anyone more prettier than Liam Payne in that very moment.

Liam breaks his lips to mumble out something, but the words die in his throat when Zayn clenches around his cock, hard. This seems to motivate Liam more, his hips fuzzy in the reflection, but yet, his eyes remain still and Zayn can see Liam's gaze travel over the mark on his neck, journey down towards his chest until he's rotating Zayn's head more to the side and their lips collide.

The kiss is vehement, heated with moans and groans, teeth clanking with every movement, but tongues sail across the small, invisible injuries made by kissing too roughly, carelessly, recklessly.

It hits him then, the sensation of an orgasm, wrecking through his core. It spreads like lightening speed and Liam's the thunder, attacking the bolt of lightening as it shoots, shoots, shoots. Zayn doesn't mind. The only thing that bothers him is that he can't kiss Liam. He's frozen, head still twisted to the side, gaze pinned on Liam and his lips parted, tiny gasps collapsing into the air between them.

"You're always so bloody quiet when you're gonna come," Liam comments, angles his hips in just the right way that has Zayn's face beveling forward, nose pressed firmly on Liam's cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

"I'm not qui— Liam, _Liam_ , fuck, I can't, I'm gonna—"

Liam interrupts with a rather loud moan that Zayn would smirk at if he wasn't so close to coming undone. "It's okay. You can come. I _want_ you to come, wanna hear you."

Zayn does. He comes silently, uttering Liam's name in a hushed manner as he spills onto the floor beneath their feet. He's trying to drive the syllables of Liam's name into the real world, trying to get his voice louder, but he's clenching, body shaking, and his hands are holding onto Liam's arms, his knuckles clear and nails digging into Liam's skin.

"Good lad, such a good lad for me. Love watchin' you come," Liam moans out, his hips jittery until Zayn can feel Liam spill into him. His face is screwed up in pleasure, lips cracked open, and his hand gripping onto Zayn's hip for dear life. He's trembling too, head tipped backwards and shoulders tensing. 

"Oh fuck, _shit_ ," are the words that soon spill from Zayn's mouth when he musters up enough energy to form something other than Liam's name, pushing back onto Liam's cock as they both soar down from their highs.

"Oh fuck shit's right," Liam chuckles a beat later, offering one last rocking motion of his hips before he pulls out, letting go of Zayn.

Zayn stands there, legs still apart, some of Liam's come dribbling out of his hole. He shouldn't feel complete like this, with Liam standing in front of him, looking royally fucked out as Zayn feels.

"Was I a good distraction?" Liam interrogates, lips curling into that notorious smirk of his — something between troublesome and captivating; Zayn loves it. 

Zayn looks at him, glances down at the broken glass on the floor, then back up. "Yeah. Made me break your fuckin' toothbrush jar."

Liam shrugs nonchalantly, sparing a single look at the shattered glass on the floor. "I'll clean it up later. Y'gonna tell me what you were thinkin' about?"

"It's nothing," Zayn says, leaning against the sink. He doesn't feel weird, standing naked in front of Liam. Hasn't in a long time.

"C'mon, babe, let me help, I—"

Zayn cuts him off, motioning towards the door. "Let me get cleaned up and we'll talk afterwards? Kinda feel like an absolute twat, standin' here naked with your come drippin' down my arse."

Liam laughs, playfully punching Zayn in the arm before he's sauntering towards the door. "Didn't hear you complainin' before, Malik!"

"I complain about a lot of things. Shitty quickies just so happen to be one of 'em."

Liam smiles, gaze flickering towards him. "Oh, trust me, you and I both know that wasn't a shitty quickie."

Zayn manages to keep a grin tugging at his lips until Liam closes the door, then it swivels downwards, a lump forming in his throat and tears pool in his eyes. It sweeps over him, sadness and heartbreak all at once. It pulls him in, hugs him, and even though he's battling with it day in, day out, it breaks down the barrier he's constructed himself, top to bottom. There's no pain like loving your best friend and them being oblivious to every adoring stare, every desire to kiss them, every thought that feels like a stab wound to the heart because Liam — Liam'll never be his, even though Zayn knows what his lips feel like and what he looks like when he comes.

* * *

 They don't talk about Zayn's thoughts or what happened. Zayn's all smiles and laughs for the rest of the day and Liam accompanies that with a fond smile and random conversations. He's mastered the art of playing it cool, even when their hands brush when they're strolling down the street, on their way to the pizza shop for dinner.

When they get back from town and Liam tackles him to the floor, Zayn finds the power to focus on the moment, rather than what's going to become of the situation. He doesn't regret meeting Liam, nor does he regret rooming with him. He isn't sorry for having feelings or sleeping with someone he shouldn't have crossed boundaries with.

But the one thing he is sorry for? Falling in love tonight, the morning after, and every moment in between. Liam's heart fills the empty space that Zayn's never had the pleasure of seeing, only feeling. Maybe it's for the best.

 

If he fucks Liam a little rougher into his mattress at three in the morning on a Monday night when it's snowing outside, blemishing his hips with cruel grips and teeth marks, so what?

If he leans down, takes Liam's earlobe between his teeth before admitting he loves him like it's a sin because he can't restrain his feelings anymore at four in the morning, so what?

If Liam retaliates by asking Zayn if he'll marry him at five in the morning, so what?

 

They've always been more than friends, but now they're more than a couple.

They're infinite.

And they're okay with that, as long as they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I kill you with TWBW - terrible writers block writing? I sure hope not.
> 
> If you survived, I'm proud of you.
> 
> Have a good day/evening/night!


End file.
